The Warrior and The Kingslayer
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: The reputation of the Kingslayer stands for everything Brienne of Tarth does not. A man without honour, a man without loyalty, who did not hold his vows high as a knight should. No longer bound to him by her own vow, Brienne ought to have left and never looked on his face again...yet she could not... Set between Seasons 3 and 4. Rated for language and mild sex. Enjoy xxx
**Hey! I hope you are well. Thank you for reading my story-I do hope you enjoy. I will do my best to update regularly.**

 **This will be very much my own storyline, but everyone will stay in character as far as possible :)**

 **Please do review if you'd like-I'd love to hear your thoughts :)**

 **I do not own GOT. If I did, Podrick would be on the Iron Throne :) much love xxx**

Brienne shivered. It seemed as if everywhere on the mainland was cold compared with Tarth, though the Kings Landing climate suited her far better than the icy chills further north. She knew she ought to put on a cloak, especially at this time of night-there was no time to succumb to illness. But somehow, one foot kept placing itself in front of the other as she closed the door to the little side room she had been given in the Maidenvault of the Red Keep. She had seen the smirks on the men's faces when the steward had placed her in this corner of the Keep-big Brienne with her own kind, in the rooms once designed to protect the virtue of the sisters of Balor the Blessed. It had barely mattered at the time-she'd been distracted. But now she wondered if this was a joke. Most interactions with her seemed to incorporate jokes at her expense.

However, the room was comfortable, though small, seeming as grand as the chambers of the king himself after the months she had spent sleeping in the dirt. The bed was soft and there was even a chest of drawers, though she had precious little to fill them with. She'd placed her chain mail carefully over the looking-glass in the corner, so it could reflect nothing of her as she passed it.

Dressed in nothing but a thin, cotton nightshirt, Brienne made her way through the corridor, listening to the snores of Tyrell and Lannister men in the chambers around her as they awaited the wedding. The temperature dropped by the degree as she headed as quietly as her large feet would allow towards the open door at the end, which lead onto the courtyard outside. She would not step foot outside attired like this-but she could still look… _This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous._

It was such a clear night that even in the city every star was visible. Though she'd slept every night under them for so long, she could never get used to looking. They did not seem as beautiful here as Tarth, reflected on the crystal waters so it seemed the whole island was encased in a celestial sphere of its own. Brienne wrapped her arms tightly around herself, moving her knees back and forth to fight the chill. But her feet remained planted as she looked up, turning her head to the direction of Blackwater Bay, letting her eyes slide up the tower that overlooked it, that skinny, leaning tower they called White Sword. There it was.

There had been far more fuss over where to house the Kingslayer than there had been for her when she had delivered him back to his family as she had promised the late Lady Catelyn. Some had argued that he could not be placed back in his old quarters with the kingsguard in the White Sword Tower, due to his extended absence and (whispered out of earshot of the Kingslayer himself) the fact that he now had one hand less than when he had last slept there. Nonetheless, Queen Cersei had insisted that he would be more comfortable in that familiar space after his long, traumatic journey. Although her path had not crossed with that of the Queen before now, she had only to look once into those piercing green eyes to know that to argue with this woman would be akin to bargaining with the tide.

 _You're being ridiculous._

Brienne found herself scanning the White Sword Tower, looking hard at each of the small windows, wondering which the Kingslayer was sleeping behind. It was most strange not to sleep near him, after all this time. His face had been the first and last thing she'd seen each day for months…Brienne shook her head stubbornly. It was wrong that the Kingslayer should sleep in the same quarters as loyal kingsguard. He ought to sleep in the kennel with the dogs, he deserved no better…Brienne tried to imagine herself, as Renly's kingsguard, laying in the chamber next to Stannis Baratheon… _another kingslayer_. Though mercifully Renly's death had not been so bloody as that of the Mad King by that Lannister lion's filthy paw…though she supposed it had been scrubbed clean by now…oh no. She'd forgotten for a moment. It was laying in some ditch on the Kingsroad, unattached, rotting…

Brienne shivered mightily, wrapping the thin fabric around her as tightly as she could. A night breeze bit the back of her neck-for once in her life, she longed for flowing hair to her shoulders...She looked back up at the tower. Perhaps the Kingslayer could not sleep either. Perhaps he was pacing his room as Brienne had been, finding the comfort and cleanliness as overwhelming as she did…perhaps not. Brienne swallowed hard. Her eyes wondered over to Maegor's Holdfast, the colossus bearing down on her as it swamped the Red Keep. This, she had read as a girl, was where the royal apartments were. The King himself would be sleeping there, weeks from his wedding to Queen Margaery, who would be sound asleep there too…every time she thought of the wedding, her stomach jolted unpleasantly. Renly's widow remarrying…it seemed to cement his murder, carving it out in stone and placing it on a pedestal for all to see…

Queen Cersei's chambers would be on the top story, Brienne was sure Her Grace's rooms would be second only to those of the King. Looking up to the highest windows, she imagined the Queen's golden Lannister hair, spread out on her pillows as she slept, free from the complex braids and jewels which adorned it by day…Suddenly, in Brienne's mind, another golden head began to materialise beside it. A man, floppy hair pushed backwards from his chiselled face, strong jaw, emerald Lannister eyes, exactly like his sister's…

Brienne actually coughed out loud. Hurriedly, she dispelled the vile image, scolding herself…and yet…

He probably _was_ there. Beside…her. Brienne knew that was all he had wanted their entire journey, through every adventure and trial. All that had kept him going was the hope of being beside his sister again. The Kingslayer had told her, on one of those long nights in the mud, when the agony of his stump hand had made sleep impossible, that he had come into this world clutching his twin's heel. Even birth had not managed to part them for a moment, let alone hundreds of miles, lakes and rivers, bridges and fields...

 _You are ridiculous._

It was too cold. Brienne gritted her teeth, then turned and crept back towards her chamber, practically running on the balls of her feet. She eased the door open, slipped through, then closed it carefully behind her, not allowing it to bang…before collapsing onto the narrow bed, the wood creaking under her weight. She wrapped the blankets around her as securely as she could, pulling them right over her head. There was an acute pain in her chest that she could not explain. Massaging it between her small breasts, she wondered whether it was the shock of eating a full meal on arrival for the first time in weeks. She hoped all the food in the capital would not be so rich-she did not believe in the excess of king's feasts. One did not need such a vast amount of food-her father had taught her that it was fuel for her muscles rather than a pleasure for her mouth. The Kingslayer had laughed at her when she'd said this on the road, claiming that the human mouth had the greatest muscles of all-capable of receiving-and indeed giving- _incredible_ pleasure. He'd laughed harder when she'd blushed.

Brienne stared up at the ceiling, feeling strangely trapped after spending day and night in the open air for so long. It was as if the ceiling was pushing down on her, caging her in like a trapped beast, unable to escape.


End file.
